Desperate Times
by RhiannonNymph
Summary: Tell him that he owed it. That he was obligated, by the deaths of others, to live. Rated T for some bad words, might change later.


**DISCLAIMER: **Of course, like everyone else here, I regrettably own nothing related to Supernatural, Jared, Jensen or anything else that might resemble something you've seen somewhere else. So don't sue. P.S. I don't have any money anyway (I know, it's a crying shame, right?)

Anyhow, I think there was a way to save Dean that the show never mentioned, and I want to do that story as a crossover with the Dresden Files (book verse) and I'm going to use this as a jumping point, but as of now, the plot is a little shaky. But I'm working on it, so keep an eye out.

The story will pretty much be AU after 'Time Is On My Side'

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**People Died**

"Dude, where have you been?" Dean was sitting at the table in the corner, laptop open, finger sliding across the mouse pad when Sam came in.

"Thinking of ways I can convince you you're worth saving." Sam could hear his brother's eyes roll. Why not? After all, they'd been over it a hundred times.

There was no saving him.

It was okay.

Sam would be okay.

Dean was -- blah, blah, blah.

Point was, that Sam didn't buy any of it. There was a way, and he'd do everything he could to find it, but things would go a lot faster if he could convince his brother to help save his own life. His own soul.

He took the chair across from Dean, placed a folder on the table and folded his hands over it.

After a moment of silence, Dean looked at his younger brother and asked, "Did you find us something cool to kill? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, this town is bor-ring." he tapped his finger on the mouse pad a few times.

Sam pulled the folder closer, pulled out a small square of paper and flipped it onto the table. It was a photo of Ben and his mother.

"Where the hell did you get that, Sam?" Dean's asked through his teeth, lips curled into the smile of a man who'd been caught, and was pissed about it.

"That matter?"

Sam held his brothers gaze, "Yeah Sam, it matters." After all this time, Sam still couldn't help it; when it came to Dean and doing things to him that Sam knew would hurt (emotionally, if not physically) he still had to work to contain his own feelings. So when he looked down, for just an instant, Dean realized. "You rifled through my stuff?"

"Do it for him."

"What?" He snatched the photo up, not with enough force to do damage, Sam noted. "He's not even mine, you know." Dean left the table, headed to the bed and started rummaging in his bag for his wallet.

"I know." and here it comes. Dean would either start yelling and then leave, or he'd get eerily quiet and then leave. "But you wanted him to be." Dean's head snapped around so fast, Sam was sure he must have pulled something. He just stared, anger in his eyes.

Eerie silence it was.

Sam pressed on, "I'm not stupid Dean. I saw the way you looked at that kid. I mean, he was enough like you that it'd be hard not to think he was yours."

He'd gone back to his bag.

"You could still have that Dean. Be with his mother, be his father, have one of your own. After this is all over, we can go back there-" the eldest Winchester turned, a well used statement on his lips, "- I know 'it'll never be over, there'll always be something to hunt'. Dean…I, I know you want this. Why won't you just help me help you?"

"You know why." he found his wallet, and placed the photo back.

Sam abandoned his seat, "We can find a way around it-"

"No Sam."

"We just have to look-"

"NO Sam."

"We have to at least try t-"

"NO GODDAMMIT!"

The conversation always went this way. And Sam always wanted to pummel his brother into submission and _make _him help. But he couldn't do that, couldn't get his help that way. He was getting desperate for a way to reach his brother, and the method he'd settled on could cause him bodily harm.

The last act of a depredate man, maybe, but it was a button he knew Dean couldn't ignore.

"Do you know how many people have died to save you Dean?" He didn't want to look at Dean when he said it, but he had to. He knew his brother knew exactly who had died, and how they had died to save his life. He knew it haunted his brother, who never asked for that sacrifice, who didn't see himself as worth any of it.

He lifted the folder off the table. This is where he'd been all day. At the local library, drudging up things both of them would rather not think about. But, again, he was running out of time.

It was all he could think to do.

Tell him that he owed it. That he was obligated, by the deaths of others, to live.

He pulled out a printout and held it for Dean to see. It was an obit for a man named Marshall Hall. And while strictly speaking, the man's death was more Sam's fault then Dean's, he knew Dean felt guilty because his sickness had pushed Sam into the world of a crazed ministers wife. And Marshall had been killed so that Dean might live.

Dean didn't say anything, but his jaw clenched.

Sam let the paper float down to Dean's bed, careful to keep the photo face up. Sam was really, _really_ pissing his brother off, but he had to continue.

He pulled out another sheet of paper. It was another obit, this one had taken him longer to find - he'd even hoped that he wouldn't find it - but it would serve his purpose.

There was a black and white photo of a pretty girl with a big smile; the name read Layla Rourke.

Dean had had to let her die. Sam knew that was harder to do than just knowing someone's life had been exchanged for your own.

He saw Dean's eyes widen for just a second. His fists joined his jaw in a rhythmic clenching and unclenching; his shoulders tensed. Sam was certain his older brother was about to pounce on him, fists flying. And he sort of deserved it.

And the next photo was going to hurt more than the others combined, it hurt him just to have to use it against Dean like he was about to.

Layla Rourke joined Marshall Hall, photo clearly visible.

The last photo came from Sam's own wallet. It was of their father.

He'd barely had a chance to bring it up to chest level before Dean was moving. Within seconds Dean was well within Sam's personal space, forcing him back against the table. He all but ripped the photo of their father from his fingers and started shouting, "_What the hell is wrong with you_?!"

"Dean-"

"No." his voice was seething with anger, "Fuck you, Sam." he grabbed his jacket, pounded the photo into Sam's shoulder and then left the room.

The door was closed to hard, Sam felt the vibrations.

He held the now crinkled photo in his hands, looking at his father. He could feel the beginnings of tears. What he wouldn't give for things be how they had been, he wished they were still looking for him. Hell, if it meant Dean would live, he'd wish they would still be trying to track down Yellow Eyes.

He wiped a hand across his eyes, there was no one there to see, but he still didn't want to cry. He had to be strong, for himself…for Dean.

With a glance at the door he wished Dean would come back, see his point, and finally help save himself.

He'd cross his fingers, but Winchesters didn't have that kind of luck.

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Please review and let me know what you think!! Reviews are like candy….only they don't cause cavities…so…better. :)

Also, I don't particularly like the title, so that's subject to change.


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